


The Spirit of a Word

by PitofInsanity



Category: Original Work
Genre: I Tried, Multiple Genres
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitofInsanity/pseuds/PitofInsanity
Summary: A collection of random one-word prompts that I decided to post here so my friends could read them easier.





	1. Goodbye

_Goodbye - used to express good wishes when parting._

 

The man smiled as the little girl ran off, the small stuffed bear clutched tightly to her chest. The young teenager beside him sniffed and hastily wiped his eyes.

 

“She’ll be okay, right?”

 

“I’m sure she will be.”

 

“Good, good,” he muttered, glancing down at his shoes. The man placed a hand on his shoulder and he leaned into the touch with a whispered thanks. Then, with a deep breath, he pulled himself upright.

 

“I’m ready.”

 

The man nodded and, with a flourish of his scythe, opened the rift to the afterlife. And with one last glance at his baby sister playing happily in the grass, the boy stepped through.


	2. Inept

_ Inept - having or showing no skill. _

 

Rosie bit her lip as she struggled to stay upright on the ice. Slowly, she inched her way forward, but a slight miscalculation sent her sprawling yet again. A quiet chuckle to her left made her ears burn and she turned to see her dad gliding smoothly towards her.

 

“You okay?” he said with an outstretched hand. She glared at him with all the force of an embarrassed six-year-old.

 

“I wanna go home.”

 

“It’s only been fifteen minutes.”

 

“Yeah!” she huffed, “and I’ve already fallen like, a bajillion times! I can’t do it. I wanna go home.”

 

“... You wanna know a secret?” he asked as he helped her stand. She nodded. “I’ve bet I’ve fallen  _ two _ bajillion times!”

 

“What?!” she gasped, “but you’re so good!”

 

“I am now, but I wasn’t always. I was slipping and sliding all over the place! But with a little practice, I got better. And you’ll get better too.”

 

“... Do you think I’ll be as good as you?”

 

“Sweetie, you’ll be even  _ better _ . Do you still want to go home?”

 

“No, I wanna keep trying.”

 

“Okay, here, why don’t you keep holding my hand? We’ll work on your balance.”

 

(Years later - as she stood to receive an Olympic gold medal in figure skating - Rosie remembered those words and the warmth of her hand in his.)


	3. Baloney

_ Baloney - nonsense _

 

“Curses don’t exist, old man!” the knight exclaimed as he pushed his way past the mayor.

 

He had come to this small, backwater, village by order of the king. It was a promotion of a sort, he had been told. A chance to prove himself a knight of the people.

 

“The people,” he scoffed as he made his way to the stables. The thought made him boil. Superstitious cowards the lot of them! Oh, he had  _ tried _ to play along. Hand joined in on their silly little rituals. But tonight! Tonight was the last straw.

 

The villagers had stopped him on the way out of the tavern, babbling  _ nonsense _ about hearing a hunting horn sound in the woods. They said it was dangerous, the sign of a curse. Had  _ refused _ to let him make the short ride through the forest to his own home. 

 

Well, enough was enough. He would show them. He would show them all.

 

With that thought, he rode off into the forest.

 

(All the villagers found the next morning was a helmet and a bloodied sword.)


	4. Peroxidize

_ Peroxidize - to convert into a peroxide _

 

The first time it happens she writes it off.

 

They’re on the classroom floor working on a banner for the upcoming club fair. An easy camaraderie fills the air as the two best friends joke and laugh and reminisce about the past three years.

It had been a small club back when they had first joined as wide-eyed freshmen. For her, it became a safe haven, a place to go when things got rough at home. For him, it became a second family and a place to call his own. And now, as co-presidents, they hoped to share their personal sanctuary with others.

 

They finish the banner soon enough and he stands to survey their work. He turns to her with a grin on his lips and a paint-splattered hand outstretched to pull her up.

 

It strikes the moment she takes his hand. A rush of warmth and a feeling of weightlessness so intense it leaves her slightly dizzy and out of breath.

 

Then it’s gone and reality snaps back into place so fast that she wonders if she imagined it. But his other hand is on her arm now and the concern in his eyes tells her that, perhaps, she didn’t.

 

She belatedly realizes that she’s still on the floor and embarrassment floods her system. She chalks the odd feeling from earlier up to exhaustion. It had been a long day after all.

 

*****         *****    *****

 

The fifth time it happens she begins to worry.

 

She’s standing under the eaves of the school entrance, glaring at the dark clouds in the sky as if that will scare them away. It’s pouring and she knows for a fact that she’ll look like a drowned rat by the time she makes the fifteen-minute walk from her school to her house. But she forgot her umbrella and she needed to be home five minutes ago.

 

She sighs and is about to start walking when she feels a tap on her shoulder. It’s him with folded umbrella in hand and a lopsided grin on his face. He shoves the umbrella into her hands with a request for her to return it later and runs into the storm, laughing.

 

He’s far enough away in the opposite direction of her home that she can’t really justify chasing after him by the time she shakes out of her momentary stupor. Instead, she tries to ignore the lightness in her chest and the flush in her cheeks as she makes her way home.

 

(She’d been hurt before and the scars run deep enough for her to fear the emotion that flairs whenever he’s around.)

 

***** ***** *****

 

It’s weeks later when she finds the courage to accept the emotion.

 

She’s sitting in chemistry, bored and inattentive. The teacher drones on about something or other and, though she tries to take notes, her eyes keep sliding to the empty chair beside her. It’s her only class with him this entire semester, but he’s been sick the past few days and she can’t help but miss him.

 

The bell rings, jolting her out of her thoughts. She glances at her notes, and amidst the absent-minded doodles, something catches her eye.

 

She’ll laugh later about how a short note about the peroxidation and subsequent degradation of lipids is what finally makes things click into place. But she’d never been very good with emotions to begin with.

 

It’s ironic, she thinks - as her mind wanders from the role of lipids in bodily insulation to the insulation around her own heart - that despite the glaring breach in walls built to keep out the cold, all she feels is warmth.


	5. Geminate

_ Geminate - arrange in pairs _

 

He hears the notion repeated throughout the day.

 

_ They’re made for each other. _

 

_ He’s her better half. _

 

_ She completes him. _

 

Different words, same meaning. They are two halves of the same whole.

 

He smirks into his glass at the thought. He supposes he can see where the crowd is coming from - the newly-wed couple in question has been joined-at-the-hip since the day they first met - but it’s not like that at all.

 

He’s known the two of them for a long time; has watched them bend and flow around each other in an intricate dance only they know. Distant as ships in the night, yet as intimate as only the closest of loved ones can be.

 

It’s not that they are incomplete without the other. They are individual, separate, and whole. Two distinct planets caught up in the gravity of each other. Equals in every sense of the word.

 

He hopes he can find something like that one day.


	6. Nostalgic

_ Nostalgic - longing for familiar things or persons _

 

She doesn’t get visitors that often anymore, so when she does it’s always a treat.

 

It’s her brother this time, arms laden with blankets and his family trailing behind. He hasn’t been here in a while, what with school, and work, and family. He apologizes for that, sheepishly proffering the blankets in his arms, a peace offering of a sort.

 

She chuckles, he doesn’t need to apologize, she’s just happy he’s here. A picnic  _ does _ sound nice though, especially on a beautiful day like today. She’s always loved picnics. She’s glad he remembered.

 

He introduces his family to her and fills her in on years missed. She knows all of this, of course, but it’s nice to hear it from his own mouth.

 

He named his youngest after her. She still blushes at that. She’s never thought herself much of a role model. 

 

Briefly, he mentions thinking about taking up boating again and she swells with pride. He hasn’t so much as gone near a boat since the accident, though they both used to love it. She resolves to be there with him when the day comes.

 

They stay for a while, watching the clouds and sharing old stories. It’s nice, but like everything, it must come to an end at some point. She hates this part as much as he does.

 

His family leaves before him, and she’s thankful for the space. He stands there before her, tears in his eyes. 

 

He doesn’t feel her embrace, he never does. Her heart breaks at his whispered love still tinged with guilt.

 

One day he’ll hear the words she always whispers back. He’ll know of her love and her pride. He’ll know that she  _ never _ blamed him.

 

But as she watches him go from her grave atop the hill, she prays yet again that that day will not come for a long, long time.


	7. Epiphany

_ Epiphany - a sudden, intuitive insight _

 

He wakes with a stitch in his side and someone’s foot uncomfortably close to his face. The lights in the room are annoyingly bright and, dimly, he recognizes the cheery chiptune of the game they had been playing. He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

 

Propping himself up on his elbows, he takes a look around. The sight of his sleeping friends brings a smile to his lips. One of them is sprawled out on the floor beside him, snoring softly. The other two are somehow crammed onto the small couch. It’s a wonder they haven’t fallen yet.

 

They came over last night bearing food and games. And after his disastrous breakup earlier that day, it was exactly what he needed. He hadn’t even asked them to come over. They just sort of… showed up.

 

He’s never had much of a family, his relationship with his parents is strained and distant at best. But as he gazes at the peaceful faces of his three best friends, he imagines it would feel something like this.


	8. Crincum-Crancum

_ Crincum-crancum - a twist, a whimsy, or a whim _

 

As far as ideas go, it’s not  _ bad _ per se…

 

He glances down at the drop before him. It’s just miles of empty air ending in about a hundred feet of lake. The water looks deceptively soft from where he stands, but he knows enough about surface tension to know that from this  _ height _ -

 

He gulps.

 

Scratch that earlier thought. This is a  _ horrible _ idea. Taking a sudden and impromptu road trip with his friends is one thing, but  _ jumping off a cliff _ ?

 

This is a terrible idea.

 

“Ready?” asks the man beside him.

 

He stiffens, blood pounding loudly in his ears, mouth suddenly dry. He tries to speak, but no words make it past his lips.

 

Yet, despite the dread curling in the pit of his stomach, he nods, and the hands holding him steady fall away.

 

He  _ soars _ .

 

He races through the sky, fists clenched tight around the harness that keeps him tethered to the zipline hung miles in the air. A sound builds in the back of his throat that is equal parts terrified and exhilarated. It gushes forth from his mouth in a hearty  _ whoop _ that dissipates into the wind.

 

He’s flying. He can’t believe it. It’s like a dream. He’s  _ flying _ .

 

When his feet finally touch solid ground, the only thought in his mind is; perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.


	9. Lilting

_ Lilting - characterized by a buoyant rhythm _

 

“Why do you think I come here?” she asks, quietly.

 

The question catches me off guard. I turn to study her. She’s gazing out at the water as she always does. Quiet, contemplative. Present, but not really.

 

She’s been coming here for months, every weekend like clockwork. Never swimming, just sitting quietly beside me on the dock as I fish. And watching, always watching.

 

“The view?” I ask as I follow her gaze. It really is a sight to behold. The expanse of the lake, the mystery of the woods beyond the shore, and the distant purple mountains. It’s breathtaking.

 

“Yeah… Something like that,” she breathes.

 

We lapse back into companionable silence. The question still lingers in the back of my mind.

 

***** ***** *****

 

She’s not there the next week, nor the week after that. I try to ignore the dread settling in my heart when she’s not here today either. It was a long shot that she would be, after all. 

 

There’s a storm rolling in soon. The air, thick and heavy, the woods eerily quiet. It’s better that she didn’t come.

 

Images of hospital gowns haunt my mind.

 

I stay there as the wind begins to pick up and the rain comes down in sheets. Visibility is so poor that all I can see of the once beautiful view is the steady bobbing of an orange buoy against the harshness of the waves.

 

_ Up, down. _

 

I think I’ve found the answer to her question.

 

_ Up. _

 

I hope there’s still time to tell her.

 

_ Down. _

 

*****         ***** *****

 

A month passes before she appears before me like a ghost. I almost can’t believe it.

 

She’s thinner, paler. But her eyes are the same, tired yet determined.

 

“The buoy,” I say, breathlessly, forgoing our usual greetings. “You come here for the buoy. It’s… it’s a reminder to- that it’s possible, I mean- to weather the storm.”

 

Her soft smile is all the answer I need.


	10. Melodious

_ Melodious - having a musical sound _

 

_ Tick. _

 

_ Tock. _

 

_ “‘Tick, tock,’ goes the clock and the party doesn't stop-” _

 

Wait. Shh. Focus. What are you doing? Yes, writing. New story, yes-

 

_ “Tonight, Imma fight till I see-” _

 

Are those even the words? I dunno.

 

Oh wow, I really like this keyboard. I miss keyboards. The keys are so clacky.

 

_ Clack, clack, clack. _

 

No shhh. Focus, focus.

 

What’s focus? I dunno. Shhhhhh.

 

The story. Get back to the story.

 

Story? What’s the prompt? Melodious? More like cacophony, am I right? Hah!

 

Shush.

 

The story, the story. The train-of-thought story. I’ve always wanted to do one of these.

 

The train has derailed. 

 

_ Boom! _

 

See? There’s the explosion. And the fire and the lights.

 

Hey, remember that one scene where they’re dancing around a bonfire? That seems fun we should do that. 

 

That was a really big bonfire. Like pillar of fire status. Like Lehi, or the fire tornado thing with Moses, that was cool.

 

Oh, wait, the story, yes. The story. 

 

Does this count? I dunno. The mind is a jumble. The pieces on the floor. I want to edit the words right now, but it flows and flows out of the mouth. Gushing forth like a spring.

 

Wow... That was poetic I should use it sometime.

 

Gosh, it’s noisy in here

 

_ Silence is a thing! _

 

But not here. There is no silence. It’s messy and chaotic and hard to follow.

 

But it’s the music of my mind just the same.


	11. Crisp

_ Crisp - brisk; sharp; clear _

 

He’s in the middle of fixing his tie when she comes in. He probably wouldn’t have even noticed her presence if not for the low whistle that makes him jump.

 

“Nervous?” she laughs as he turns to face her.

 

She’s leaning in the doorway as she always does, a familiar smirk playing on her lips. There’s more grey to her hair then he remembers, more wrinkles around her eyes, but there she stands. His mother. Strong and proud. And suddenly, he feels like he’s five years old again as he rushes to envelop her in a hug.

 

“Alright,” she sighs, as she breaks from their embrace, “let’s get a look at you, handsome.” She lets out another low whistle as she takes him in. “You sure do clean up nice. Look any sharper and we’ll have to send your best man out for safety gloves. Wouldn’t want your bride to cut herself, now do we?”

 

“ _ Mom _ ,” he whines but stops when he notices the tell-tale sheen in her eyes. He blanches. “Wait, mom, are you… Are you crying?”

 

She shushes him with another hug before he can start to panic. “I’m just really proud of you,” she says, voice muffled by his shoulder.

 

“... Thanks, mom.”

 

She pulls away with a chuckle a reaches into the purse at her side. The object she retrieves is one he recognizes instantly. His mother had carried it faithfully every day since he was seven. And before that…

 

It was his father’s.

 

“He would have wanted you to have this,” she murmurs as she places the golden pocket watch into his hands.

 

His fingers ghost over the nicks and bumps that mar its surface. The edges worn silver from years of use. But the steady  _ tick _ , _ tick _ ,  _ tick  _ of the hands still beats strong like a heartbeat, just as it always has.

 

And, for a moment, he swears he can hear something like a whisper in the air.

 

_ I am so proud of you, son. _


	12. Carbuncle

_ Carbuncle - a mythic creature from South America _

 

He  _ must _ be dreaming.

 

The geologist stares at the mass of crystals before him, wide-eyed and unblinking. It’s an impressive find for sure, craggy spikes of multicolored glass that gleam in the light of his headlamp.  He’s never seen that many minerals and gems on a single piece before, but that isn’t why he stares.

 

It’s the eyes.

 

The…  _ thing _ before him stands close to the wall of the cave, back arched in defense and amber-like blood dripping from the wound he had given it with his pickaxe. It’s almost like a cat, he thinks, one of those wild ones, a lynx, perhaps. If a lynx was made of rocks and gems, and had glowing pits for eyes, that is.

 

He reaches for the phone in his pocket - a discovery like this needs to be documented - but a warning growl from the creature stops him short. It’s the rumbling of an avalanche, the groan of the earth itself. He drops his pickaxe in terror, arms raised to protect himself-

 

A fiery light bursts forth from the creature, so bright it blinds him despite the headlamp. He screams in pain, shielding his eyes.

 

When he finally regains his sight, the creature is gone.


	13. Prestidigitation

_ Prestidigitation - sleight of hand _

 

The magician bowed, the children cheered

Then went their way to food tables reared

Lovingly, with cakes and treats,

Save a boy who shifted in his seat.

 

“Sir,” he said, tears in his eyes

“I can’t do magic like you. I’ve tried.

Bringing joy to friends is what I’ve wished,

But tricks that I try all end amiss.”

 

The magician smiled, and with a wave of his hand

Said, “But, you have the best magic in the land!

There is more to joy than cheap parlor tricks,

For love is the thing that makes magic tick.”


	14. Serendipity

_ Serendipity - good fortune; luck _

 

She leans against the wall defeatedly, head in hands. Frustrated tears leak from the corners of her eyes.

 

It’d been a rough week and an even rougher day. She’d been late to her new job, gotten yelled at by customers, and even forgotten to pack lunch.

 

She’s tired, and hungry, and all she’d wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and watch her favorite sitcom.

 

She’d forgotten to record it.

 

_ She’d forgotten to record it _ .

 

The door creaks open, cutting through the sound of muffled sobs. She hastily wipes her eyes and turns to see her son, all of eight-years-old, staring at her worriedly from the doorway.

 

“Mommy? Are you okay?”

 

“Y-yeah…” she answers, grimacing a little at the shakiness in her voice. “I’m just… I had a lot of bad luck today, is all. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

 

He frowns and disappears into his room, only to reemerge a minute later with a small rock in hand. He strides towards her and proffers the rock proudly. She takes it hesitantly, confusion on her face.

 

“... What’s this, dear?”

 

“It’s my lucky rock! It’s shiny, see?” he says happily, pointing to a small band of crystal-like specks that glitter in the light. “I want you to have it.”

 

She gazes at the rock for a moment, then pulls him into a hug.

 

“Thank you,” she breathes, “but I have all the luck I need.” 


	15. Lambent

_ Lambent - softly bright or radiant _

 

He’s never seen fireflies before and it shows. 

 

He’s giddy as a schoolboy as he crouches to examine living stars settled on the grass. Eyes bright and mouth open.

 

It’s a shame, she thinks, that few ever get to see this side of him. Life is unkind and the shell around his heart is thick and heavy. And yet, there is a softness to him in moments like these. It’s the innocence and the eagerness of a child grown too fast. The peace of a soul accustomed to pain.

 

“Look!” he calls as he trundles towards her. He cracks open cupped palms with barely constrained excitement. A firefly flutters daintily from his hands.

 

The smile on his face is blinding.


	16. Foramina

_ Foramina - natural openings or perforations in bone _

 

You awake near a river. It’s peaceful, or at least it would be if you could remember how you got there. But you  _ can’t _ and the gap in your memory fills you with dread.

 

You see a cheery campfire a little ways away but the owner is nowhere to be found- No... Wait! There they are, hidden in the shadow of the treeline. You stumble towards them.

 

The figure doesn’t so much as look up when you draw nearer. They're dressed in what you can only describe as “traveler’s clothes”; boots, trousers, tunic, and a dark woolen cloak which obscures their face. A flute of gleaming ivory rests in their lap.

 

“Hello again,” says the traveler. The voice is the whispering wind and the rumble of earth. It is the shout of a legion of hosts and the whimper of a forsaken soul. So terrifyingly alien and achingly familiar that you realize at once that the being before you is not human.

 

You say nothing. How can you? Your tongue is dry and leaden with fear.

 

“... You don’t remember, do you?” the being sighs after a moment, their voice wistful and sad, “I had hoped…”

 

They slump against the tree, hands fiddling idly with the flute. And for a moment, the loneliness in their figure is enough to loosen your tongue. 

 

“Remember what?” spills the question. Then your sense returns and you clap your hands over your mouth.

 

If the traveler pays any mind to your impulsiveness they don’t show it. “We’ve met once before when you were just a child. A fever, I think it was.”

 

A fever? Odd… You’ve always prided yourself on your health. It’d been a priority of yours ever since…

 

It comes back to you then, fleeting as lightning and echoing like thunder. You  _ remember _ . 

 

You remember the ache and the exhaustion you felt as you burnt and froze at the same time. The sour tang of sickness in the air. The fear in your parents' eyes as they held your sweat-slicked body close and forced bitter medicine down your throat. 

 

And… You remember the whisper of the song that’s haunted you for your entire life. A strange bittersweet melody that pushed you into music in the first place. A song performed on a flute of bone.

 

The world tilts and you stumble at the sudden clarity that fills your mind. “I almost...” you stammer, throat dry. “You’re…”

 

Death meets your gaze with a smile that doesn’t quite reach their eyes. “You’ve sought the song you heard that day all your life. Are you ready to hear what you wrote?”


	17. Periwinkle

_Periwinkle - A plant belonging to the dogbane family_

 

It’s the color he sees first. Vibrant splashes of bright blue-purple peeking out shyly from behind dusty, cobwebbed boxes in the corner of the attic. He hadn’t planned on doing anything today save for getting a quick feel for the house, but the boxes don’t look too heavy and he’s nothing if not curious. 

 

(He gets dust all over his good clothes, but, in hindsight, he’s extremely glad he looked anyways.)

 

A tiny wooden house lies nestled in the corner surrounded by a field of marker-scribbled flowers. He wipes at the dust on the sign above the door, jostling the bell in the window with the movement. “Brownie House,” it reads in misspelled and childish script.

 

He chuckles sadly at that. He’d heard of “brownies” before, of course. Not the chocolatey treats that so often graced his childhood table, but the fairies that sometimes cohabited with men or so the stories went. They’d been a favorite subject of his grandmother’s.

 

_Gosh_ , he missed her…

 

He pulls out his wallet on a whim and selects the shiniest penny he has. He leaves it in front of the door with a quick introduction note scribbled on the back of a receipt. It’s silly, he knows, but for a moment he feels closer to her.

 

She’d always told him to make a good first impression, after all.

 

***** ***** *****

 

It’s a while before he makes it back to the attic. What, with the funeral and the will settlement, it couldn’t really be helped.

 

He’d been working his way through the rooms. Slowly filling them with his own meager belongs. He’d kept most of the furnishings, the rest packed away or donated, but he still can’t shake the feeling of _emptiness_ that permeates every nook and cranny. It’s not even that big of a house, all things considered. It’s quite modest, really. It’s just…

 

It’s never felt so… _Lonely_.

 

(Grandma had been a quiet soul. Soft-spoken and shy. She’d never turn heads when she’d walk into the room. The spotlight had never been hers. It’s ironic then, how keenly he felt the sheer magnitude of her presence in the absence of it.)

 

It’s a bittersweet and painful thought. But perhaps, in retrospect, his heightened awareness of things in their absence is the only reason he sees anything at all when he finally returns to the attic.

 

Everything’s exactly the same as how he left it. The boxes, the flowers, the house in the corner.

 

Everything, save for a single pebble weighing down a tiny slip of paper and the strange absence of dust.

 

He reads the note over and over until his vision begins to blur.  A sad, but grateful smile on his lips.

 

And for the first time since her death, he doesn’t feel so alone.

 

***** ***** *****

 

_Hello,_

 

_You must be her grandson. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for the penny, it’ll make a nice table._

 

_We don’t know how much she told about us, but we don’t usually talk to the people whose homes we share. But… She was special. And she asked us to watch over you._

 

_… She loved you very much, we hope you know that. We look forward to living with you._

 

_In friendship,_

_The Brownies._

 

_P.S. We’ve seen you wandering_ _the halls and we think we get it. In all our years of living, she’s the only one that ever noticed us. It was nice. It… It feels emptier now that she’s gone and… Well… We just want you to know that we miss her too._

 


	18. Potato

_ Potato - a plant belonging to the nightshade family _

 

She grimaces and slams the spoon against the counter.

 

The taste is off.  _ Again _ . Three times.  _ Three times _ today she’s made it, and it’s still  _ off _ . It’s  _ potato soup _ , for crying out loud! Simple,  _ easy _ , potato soup. She’s made it before. Made it so much she knows the recipe by heart. 

 

But the taste is off, and she doesn’t know  _ why _ .

 

She rechecks the recipe card for the upteenth time. Furiously wiping away the tears that blur her vision. She did it right. Didn’t miss a thing. So  _ why _ ?

 

It’s an easy recipe. His favorite, in fact. Her fingers ghost over the faded curves of his handwriting. 

 

A script that will never be written again.

 

She chokes on a sob as she woodenly fills two bowls. She’s out of ingredients. It’ll have to do.

 

Setting a bowl in the place where he used to sit, she whispers apologies to the empty air. It’s the first time she’s eaten at the table since his death. The silence is deafening.

 

Every spoonful tastes of grief.


	19. Platypus

_ Platypus - a semi-aquatic egg-laying mammal _

 

“It’s kinda weird,” he says, as he watches the creature snuffle along the bottom of the tank. “Like, I  _ knew _ it was weird, but seeing it… It’s, like, really,  _ really _ weird.”

 

“Really?” asks his father, eyebrow raised. “Doesn’t look weird to me.”

 

His son huffs, gesturing animatedly towards the tank, “I mean,  _ look _ at it! It’s a beaver-otter-duck thing! It even lays  _ eggs _ . How is that not weird?”

 

“No weirder than other animals. A bat’s a flying rat, snakes have no legs, and have you  _ seen _ an angler fish?” he chuckles, then continues, voice soft, “Just ‘cause it looks different doesn’t mean it’s any less natural. Any less whole.”

 

“... You mean that?”

 

He doesn’t need to look down to know his son is tugging the hood of his ever-present jacket over his head, but he does anyway and his heart breaks a little like always. He kneels down and grabs the boy’s shoulder gently, looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes,” he says, voice cracking, “I really do.”


	20. Aglet

_ Aglet - ornamental tagged cord or braid on the shoulder of a uniform _

 

“You look good,” she says lightly as she fixes his tie. “Very handsome.”

 

Her husband smiles up at her, and even after all these years the laughter in his eyes sends a thrill of happiness down her spine. 

 

“Do I now?” he says with a smirk. “Should you be worried?”

 

“Oh hush, you,” she chuckles, slapping his arm playfully. “You’re mine and you know it.”

 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

The world sees him as a hero, and he knows she does too. His body bears the marks and scars of a war long since past after all. And today they will be celebrating that. 

 

But as she moves to wheel him to the door, the only hero he sees is her.

 

He grabs her arm as she passes, giving it a quick squeeze. “Thank you,” he breathes, “for everything.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

The feel of her lips on his cheek carry him through the rest of the day.


End file.
